Lyrium
by Achillia
Summary: Sometimes Cullen suffers from Lyrium withdrawal. Sometimes this has unintended consequences. Like afternoons off and picnics


A/N Bioware owns all – Dedicated to my editor and muse Emily who deserves all praise and credit since I wasn't sure I liked this enough to post. Also first foray into DAI so apologies if the characterisation is off, I don't know them as well yet.

* * *

 **Lyrium**

She doubted any of the others could see it, he was far too disciplined for that. It was probably only because she knew him so well, and because she'd been through it with him before, that she could see it at all.

In the beginning there were only ever a few, easily missed, tells.

She could see it in his steadily tightening grip on the hilt of his broadsword, an attempt to hide the shaking in his hands. She could see it in the sheen of sweat on his brow and the tension in his jaw as he grit his teeth against the pain.

She let Josephine finish her tirade against Baroness Whatever-Her-Name-Was' trading agreements, only because she knew he wouldn't want her to call attention to the state he was in. The moment the woman drew breath, she called a recess.

Josephine and Leliana immediately inclined their heads towards her and swept out of the room, Josephine taking an extra moment to gather the numerous letters that had been scattered across the war table during the course of the meeting.

Cullen did not move.

Neither did she.

He waited until the door clicked shut behind Josephine before falling gratefully to his knees. She was beside him in an instant, cradling his head against her shoulder, running her fingers through his increasingly sweat-dampened hair as he trembled and shook.

"Shhh," she crooned, blinking back the tears in her eyes. Maker, it hurt her to see him like this. "Shhh." She placed her palm against his forehead, attempting to steady him. He grunted, slamming his fist into the stone floor as she felt his entire body tense against the oncoming wave of pain.

She held him tighter as she felt the wave pass through him, each muscle tensing impossibly further under its onslaught. She clasped him against her, hoping that her arms and her love would be enough to see him though this.

She almost, _almost_ told him to start taking it again. She almost ran straight to his tower to retrieve the vial she knew he kept in the bottom drawer of his desk.

Anything, _anything_ to stop him from hurting.

But that was weakness and he needed her to be strong. If he could deal with the pain of withdrawal, then she could deal with the pain of seeing him go through it.

Or so she told herself.

Her entire family had been devoted to the Chantry, and she had lived in the circle virtually all her life. She had seen it before many times, had seen men, good men, even her own brother lose their minds to crippling lyrium addiction. Looking into her brother's eyes and seeing no flicker of recognition in them had been one of the most awful experiences of her life (prior to any weird fade-related magic marks that is). She knew that if a day ever came when her beloved Commander looked upon her with none of the love and tenderness that she had only recently come to expect and cherish from him, it would break her.

He had the chance, and the will, to make sure that never happened.

She wanted to help.

She knew in the long run it would be better for him and that this way he had a chance to break away from a past that haunted him and step into a lengthier future untroubled by memory loss. A future with her, if that was what he wanted. She hoped it was.

She clung to those thoughts as another wave of pain broke over his body. It became almost a chant within her head.

 _Remember your brother, the future, his past._

 _Your brother, the future, his past._

Eventually, the shaking subsided and he breathed freely once more.

"Thank you," he grunted, pulling away from her arms. "I did not mean to..."

"Hush." She laid her fingers against his lips, forestalling the apologies and excuses that she knew were about to spill from him. He fell silent, warm eyes gazing at her. She allowed her fingers to trace gently along his strong jaw, treasuring the rough feel of his stubble.

"You know what you need?" she said quietly after a moment.

"Enlighten me." He chuckled, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

"You need a break," she declared, dropping her hand from his jaw and moving to stand. He helped her to her feet, holding her hands in his own strong ones, more at peace now the attack had passed.

"As much as I would enjoy some time in your company, love, there is still much to do." A panicked look crossed his features and he reflexively dropped her hands in order to rub the back of his neck. "Not that I don't appreciate... or... or that I do not wish to…"

"Cullen," she said gently, effectively silencing his protestations "There is nothing wrong in us taking some time for ourselves every once in awhile."

He smiled a little at that but his gaze still drifted to the war table and she could virtually see his cool assessing gaze calculating what still needed to be done. She bent her head, catching his gorgeous eyes and making him turn his head to face her.

"The Inquisition is not going to fall apart because you and I take a single afternoon off," she stated, once she was certain she had his full attention. She could still see the uncertainty in his eyes as they flicked away from her face, he wasn't yet convinced. He opened his mouth to speak, in all likelihood to protest.

"And perhaps I need a break too," she added before he could speak. He abruptly closed his mouth, huffing a snort of laughter and she saw the light return to his eyes.

"Very well," he capitulated, taking her hands once more and raising first one and then the other to his lips, bestowing a kiss on each set of knuckles. His eyes met hers and she had to catch her breath at the twinkle of mischief and spark of happiness that she saw within them. "Then what will you have of me, my lady?" he murmured against her fingers. She closed her eyes and suppressed a shudder. Maker, his tone, his voice. There was no earthly reason why such simple things should make her respond to him so and yet she still had to stop herself from answering his question with the word 'Everything'.

Instead she smiled wickedly at him, pulled one hand free and linked the fingers of the other with his own before leading them from the room. Behind her she heard his rich chuckle as they moved.

"I do not believe that this answers my question," he murmured quietly into her ear as she led him through Josephine's room. She laughed delightedly

"Never fear my love, our destination will do that," she told him cheekily.

"Of that, I have no doubt."

She led them swiftly through Josephine's rooms moving down the staircase to the right and under the keep, pausing only briefly to swipe a bottle of wine from the cellar.

"Here, hold this," she said, passing it back to him.

"All right," he replied "But…"

"Hush, you'll see," she teased, opening the door to the kitchens. It took her mere moments to locate a suitable picnic basket from the piles of odds and ends in the corner and only a few more to pack some bread, cheese, fruit, pastries and a few pieces of the salted pork from last night's supper. Finally she added two pewter wine cups and held out a hand for the bottle he still carried.

"A picnic?" he questioned, handing her the bottle before returning to leaning casually in the door frame, watching her with that warm affectionate look that always stole her breath. The one that told her exactly how loved she was by him.

"Why not?" she replied. "It'll be good to be out of the castle for a while."

"You have been home for a mere matter of hours," he pointed out, a wry smirk curling his lips.

"Fine, then it'll do _you_ good to be out of the castle for a while," she retorted.

He laughed at that, stepping into the room and gently relieving her of the picnic basket so that he could wrap his arms around her. He pressed his forehead against her own, drawing her close and pressing a soft kiss to her lips. So soft, so tender sometimes, her Commander, and how easily he made her come apart at the seams.

"Maker, I love you," he breathed.

"I love you too" she replied, breathless for just a moment before she forced herself to focus on the task in hand. "Come now. We can sneak out the door by the stables and be gone before anyone notices."

He smiled once again. "As my lady commands," he murmured, brushing his lips against hers once more and effortlessly succeeding in melting her heart. Then he released her, reaching for the picnic basket and gesturing for her to go ahead.

In a few moments they were across the courtyard, saddled, seated and riding out of the keep with all speed. She was no master horseman and probably never would be, circle life hadn't lent itself to horse riding lessons, but she didn't need to be because fortunately he was. The feeling of complete and utter freedom from travelling at speed across the ice, combined with the feeling of complete and utter safety from being pressed into the loving arms of her commander as he reached around her for the reins, was indescribable and she found herself having to resist the urge to laugh aloud.

They raced down the mountain slowing only when the ground levelled out and they reached the edge of the forest that covered the mountain's base.

"Perhaps now would be a good time to tell me where exactly we are going?" he rumbled into her ear effortlessly reining the horse in and eliciting a breathy laugh from her lips. She gestured towards the grove she'd found amongst the trees and he spurred the horse in the direction she indicated. They trotted over to the largest tree in the grove where he dismounted with a practiced grace that was far smoother than the inelegant contortion she had to perform to even get both legs on the same side of the horse. He smirked at her, that devilish, almost unbearably sexy smirk and reached up to gently lift her from the horse.

"There you go," he said softly setting her on her feet.

"Thank you," she replied gazing up at him. Maker, he was a handsome man, from the wavy and, as she knew from experience, beautifully soft hair to the warm amber eyes that burned and sparkled and softened in accordance with his emotions and then, then the single, almost delicate, scar that bisected his lip and of course his full lips and strong jaw.

She was staring, she realised and immediately began blushing. She tore her eyes from his and at the same time saw him raise his arm to rub the back of his neck, a habitual gesture which she had learned meant embarrassment – had he been staring too?

"So…Food?" she asked as a way of breaking the tension. He smiled at her gratefully.

"Food would be good."

She turned from him, reluctantly as always, and moved to unhitch the picnic basket from where he'd strapped it to the back of the saddle. Picnic basket released, she stepped into the grove proper in order to look for a suitable resting place.

"Oh, Void take it!" she exclaimed glancing around at their surroundings. "I forgot to bring a blanket."

"No matter," Cullen replied, having finished tying the horse to the tree. "This will suffice, I'm sure."

He slid his cloak, pauldrons and all, from his shoulders, spreading it on the grass before her. She grinned at him and the now familiar feeling of warmth in her heart suddenly and inexplicably increased a thousand-fold. He knelt on his cloak grasping her hand in his much larger one and pulled her down beside him. She took a comfortable seated position beside and against him, opened the basket and began to portion out the food inside.

"I admit, you _were_ right about this," he conceded after they had eaten and drunk their fill. He was fully stretched out on his cloak, boots casually crossed, arms folded behind his head, resting on his pauldrons. He had shucked the heavy plate parts of his armour and wore only the open under tunic, leather bracers and greaves. The soft summer breeze had blown some of his golden locks loose across his forehead and his mouth had a permanent upwards lift that was not usually present.

He looked, delightfully dishevelled, relaxed. It was a good look on him.

She sat cross-legged by his side, facing him. She had picked all of the little white flowers she could reach and was currently working on linking them together. Her secret plan was to make a circlet of them and then make him wear it, just because it would be hilarious to see 'the lion of Ferelden', solemn commander of the Inquisition, adorned with a daisy crown. Almost as good as the trying not-to-look-amused expression he would no doubt wear as she placed it on his head.

"Hmm?" she said, realising he had spoken.

"You were right about this," he repeated. "It _is_ good to get out of keep."

She glanced up from her work, taking in his relaxed posture and the colour returning to his cheeks.

"You do look better," she told him softly.

"I feel better," he replied tilting his face towards the sunlight with closed eyes. The light shone beautifully on his golden curls and she felt the irrational urge to reach out and run her fingers through them. "I should let you talk me out of the keep more often," he said distracting her from her thoughts.

"You should," she agreed, and she meant it, he suffered so much from the withdrawal symptoms and he seemed determined to suffer alone, even though he didn't have to.

"Have I told you how brave I think you are?" she asked him suddenly, putting the finishing touches to his floral crown. He snorted.

"I'm not so sure it's brave as much as it is jeopardizing-the-strength-of-the-entire-inquisition," he replied. "But thank you."

"Cullen," she said in that warning tone, the one she used when he was being an idiot. The one she'd used on their first night together when he'd questioned whether or not she'd wanted this, wanted them.

"I'm sorry," he replied, unfolding his arms and sitting up so that they were face to face, one arm casually balanced on bended knee. "Your support in this means… a lot to me, more than I can say." He reached out to tuck a loose strand of her hair behind her ear, staring at her with those intense amber eyes, so full of emotion that she found herself fighting down a blush. "Maker, you are beautiful," he murmured, cupping her jaw, gently, oh so gently, and bringing her lips to his own.

Maker, the way the man kissed melted her every time; so slow, so careful, so sweet that it stole her breath.

"You are not so very terrible to look at yourself, Ser Rutherford," she teased when they broke apart. He chuckled and the rich warmth of it set her heart racing. "But there is _one_ thing that would improve upon your appearance."

"Oh?" he replied, one quizzical eyebrow raised.

"This." She produced her completed daisy chain with a flourish and placed it on his head before he could argue. He closed his eyes and heaved a sigh of mock frustration even as the smile on his face revealed his amusement. When he opened his eyes, they glittered.

"Better?" he asked her as his smile widened.

"Much," she replied leaning in to capture _his_ lips this time.

"We should go back," he muttered against her lips.

"Mmm," she replied pressing a soft kiss to his scar. "We should," she agreed as he captured her lips once more.

But they didn't move for quite some time.


End file.
